Friendship

I compose—sifted and threshed—peering into a private vase.

Such playful spontaneity accustomed to pain and mask. We

fumble meter, find a groove, and chat theme to storm. She

thumps a gnat and pokes a camel. We argue and laugh, jest

and banter, ever alive, wine to gin. Olives are scrumptious at

a precise moment; and gourmet ribs appease a gullet. Our

moment but words and prose camouflaged in academia.

“Cut it out,” she yells. I reply the same. Our voices rumble

through walls, windows vibrating—a room full of gesticulations—

followed by somber silence. What have we given, I ask? “So

much,” she replies. “And look at us, ever asunder—grieving  

vanguards.” Our blood is both sea and gravel, my dear; and long

live a bond, ravished by integrity, oozing both dignity and pride.

We scoot nigh, palm to palm, wipe a tear, and sway gently.